


Let The World Burn

by double_negative



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: (an offhand mention), Child Death, Flashbacks, Gen, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Reunions, Serial Killers, boys being morbid, sanity slippage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 11:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19250263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/double_negative/pseuds/double_negative
Summary: What can I say. Doubt anyone gives a damn about Mantis anymore. This one's for me.Heavily connected to my other fic - Split. But you don't really need both, I guess. Some small callbacks to my other Mantis fics too, but nothing important.I wrote this all on mobile lying in hospital with meningitis. So excuse any mistakes. Or don't.





	Let The World Burn

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say. Doubt anyone gives a damn about Mantis anymore. This one's for me.
> 
> Heavily connected to my other fic - Split. But you don't really need both, I guess. Some small callbacks to my other Mantis fics too, but nothing important.
> 
> I wrote this all on mobile lying in hospital with meningitis. So excuse any mistakes. Or don't.

It's been years, ages what seems like since he felt any actual emotion. There were others, of course, gnawing at his psyche like maggots, but nothing like it has been when he was a kid, nothing he can't easily ignore or dismiss. No rapid switch, like a machine set to a different setting, quiet apathy and disinterest traded for rage and hatred in an instant. No, nothing like that anymore.

He knows it should be normal. People, well, living beings in general, feel things. From something as simple as pain to something more complex like devotion. He's the one to know, left to wade through all of it, tugging, weighing on his mind in a constant wall of noise. It should be normal for him too, but he's not sure that he is considered a living being anymore, if he ever even was.

So when he sees the subject of his next mission, he is not surprised to feel nothing. He is told from the beginning that it's something huge, something important and apparently going over the man's dossier is supposed to make him unnerved, from what his superiors glances told him, but it doesn't. A name and an age, a short, boring summary of early life. A list of victims, about thirty of them. Mantis guesses that was what's supposed to surprise him, since the subject is not a soldier, he's a serial killer and those don't tend to rack up such a big bodycount before they are ultimately caught. He exhales tiredly behind the mask. There's nothing special about this man at all, not to him, at least. He did much worse before he was 10.

The mission itself was as trivial as they get too. The criminal has some secrets, but won't speak and is apparently too valuable to be tortured for some reason. So go in, read his mind, get out as much as you can and you're done. As usual, the kgb would rather waste Mantis's time than train their interrogators better. Doesn't matter to him, he got paid for it.

"So what am I dragging out of this one?", Mantis' voice is dry and raspy when he speaks behind the mask. He didn't talk for a while now, the question was just... courtesy, he supposed. He could of course just get the information straight out of his handler's brain, but he found out early that it's not really appreciated and affects his pay.

"Location of the body of the latest victim. If they are dead. If not, the same still. Coordinates, clues, anything", her face is unreadable to anyone but Mantis. She's impatient, giddy even. There's probably a promise of promotion for her in it.

Still, a simple body. Police work. His superiors rarely got into things like these. Unless there was something else. So Mantis decides to prod "Sounds important. Someone I should know?"

The handler's smile is placid, annoyed. "It is important, but it's none of your concern."

"A name would greatly help in my search." Mantis doesn't like to ask for things, but it would make it easier for everyone involved. He would be done and out of the building in no time. Besides, what's the point of hiding it from him if he's able to glean the information straight from the killer's brain anyways? 

"Go." And so he does, locking the door behind him with a small mental push.

The killer looks a lot like the pictures on his file. Just... even more worn out. Bruised, bloodied. It's in Mantis' mind immediately too. He's in pain. So they already tortured him and got nothing. Figures they'd come for his help.

"Hello, son", he smiles. It's tired, paper-thin, an attempt to confuse and disarm, Mantis has seen it all before. "I thought it was time for another visit. Didn't expect the mask though. Is it Halloween already?"

"It's for your protection". Mantis knows he shouldn't talk. He should just get to it.

"You poisonous or something?". The killer seems amused, but Mantis can't read him beyond that. Strange. But nothing he can't handle.

"You can say that".

When Mantis takes off his gloves and puts his fingertips over the man bloodied forehead, he doesn't know he's not coming back. So, as per usual, he doesn't feel anything. He doesn't expect anything, doesn't prepare himself, doesn't waste time. Just plunges in.

-

He wakes up. In a hospital, his skull split in half, his hair gone, months of his life lost to a nightmare more vivid than his entire life has been before. Opressive white walls and people who never thought he'd live to tell what they've done to him.

-

He wakes up. In his own tiny flat, largely unfurnished, despite him spending all his time there, there is no trace of him in that place, no books or pictures, just a worn out mattress and a plate with something rotten stuck to it. He can't remember the last time he ate.

-

He wakes up. On a bench for some reason. At first he thinks it's good, he went outside, even if he doesn't remember when or why. Then he realises he's surrounded by people. His skin crawls, his last physical touch - ungloved fingers to that sticky bloody skin. He fights the urge to vomit, pushing past figures and faces, not sure if he's running or floating, not sure how he's got home in the end, not sure, not sure, not sure...

\- 

He never liked people before. Pesky, inconsequential, only there to take his time and bother him. But he could deal with their stupidity before. Filter out their thoughts, emotions. Now it doesn't stop even whe he's got his mask on. Something foreign gnawing at his brain day and night, incessantly. A slow lazy crawl of maggots turned into a something with a force of a powerdrill. And it's not something he can block, he realises. No, because it comes from inside of him. It is his own now.

And people... well, he doesn't want to even look at them anymore, everything that he is recoiling from disgust. Hatred. His own this time.

He buys blackout curtains, can't stand to notice even a glimpse of life outside his window. He never lets the air in too, because the air means sounds: birds chirping, cars passing by, worst of all - children playing. He doesn't eat much anymore and his supplies will last a while. The rent is paid in advance from the generous paycheck he used to receive from the government. He never understood why they would give him that much, never knew what to do with the money. Now he wonders if they somehow knew the risks. If it was somehow payment for the life they were about to steal from him. Of course, no one could know. The psychics simply aren't common enough to work out the entire process effectively.

He doesn't wear his mask around the house, but doesn't bother covering mirrors when he's not wearing it like he planned to. He didn't feel any attachments to his looks before, but now that he lost them, he finds an almost masochistic pleasure in watching his deteriorated form. His skin is pale, but now it's a translucent blue, almost glowing, marked by scars and tattoos that he only knows the meaning of because he stole his medical files from the hospital he was put in. Which reminds him, he didn't mind burning the building to the ground. With most of the personnel, patients even, still inside. It served them right. They deserved it anyways.

He thinks about it every day, lying in bed, watching himself slowly waste away. People screaming. People burning. Searing flesh, scorched earth. A mirror reflection of a picture from his childhood, almost. He doesn't mind. No, it's not that he doesn't care.

He wants more.

When he manages to fall asleep, he dreams of the world gone up in flames. The chaos, the pain, the misery and then - silence. All by his own hand. He wakes up laughing. He has never laughed before. It's weird. He decides he likes it.

The quiet disinterest is gone. He wants things now. He feels things. Needs them. For people to suffer, to die at his mercy. It scares him somewhat at first, but after some consideration the fear recedes away. What has this world done for him anyway? What have those people done for him? A tool in their hands from birth, he knew nothing but that. Where is his family, supposed to love him unconditionally? Where are friends, glad to see his face no matter what? Where's the goddamned government, promising such a bright future to "someone with his talents"? He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs, but this time it's not glee. It's disappointment. Bitter irony. He is a higher being, more powerful than any of those stupid meaningless people he let rule over him for all those years. "With his talents" he might as well be a god.

And a god does as god pleases. It would please Mantis very much to see everything go up in flames.

When he drives himself up the walls of his empty flat, he wonders. How do I take with me as many as I can?

-

His dreams are full of fiery destruction, but his nightmares are not his own. There's an unfamiliar face present in every single one. A little blonde girl. Hands tied behind her back. Not too tight as if to hurt, just tight enough to hold her in place. But she doesn't need to be held anymore, because she's dead. And can he really call her unfamiliar? Of course, he never saw her himself, but he knew who she was. He knew her name, the one his handler wouldn't give him all those lives ago. "It is important, but it's none of your concern."

It doesn't really bother him. The girl was a bargaining chip discarded too early by a complete mistake. But there's blood stuck in her blonde hair. Dirt, smeared over her cheek in a pattern he sure he's seen before. Stupid, considering it's just a stain. Still, something about it. Blood. Dirt.

Her name too.

Ellie.

-

-Ellie!-

Dark sleeves flying in the wind on top of the communication tower, both hands pointing at the docking ship. Sun is setting over the sea. The boy looking at him frowns. "Don't ever call me that."

He doesn't mean it, of course. What he means is "not in front of the others", and Tretij understands. He makes sure to send an apology over the mental link either way. Right before he gets distracted again. The ship is closer and for a second it feels like it's bigger than the entire platform.

-It's huge!-

"Yeah, yeah. You're huge. A huge dork". The boy keeps watching Tretij more than he does whatever is happening in the dock.

-You're not looking!-

Tretij is frustrated, he floats over and clamps his sleeved hands over the sides of the blond boy's head and turns him until he finally concedes.

"Tretij. There's really nothing to be that excited about." He is always that way, pretending to be the more serious, grown-up one, but Tretij knows it's not like that. He's been hurt, it's tough to open up. Tretij understands. He's the same too, after all.

"You know I will show you so much more than that old piece of shit ship." Tretij knows, he knows everything when it comes to Ellie. Still, he asks.

-When?-

"When we rule the world." The smile on Eli's face is more brilliant than the sun. He knows what he's talking about and Tretij believes him.

-

He wakes up. On a plane, surrounded by people once again. He doesn't want to be there, but it's his only way out. The altitude adds another layer of unpleasant to the buzz in his brain. He stretches his legs and settles into his sit again, praying to only wake up once he's there.

-

"Why are you here?", his voice is cold, his mind is distant. It's not what Mantis expected at all. He's pretty sure it's not what El- Liquid expected as well.

"Do you remember when you told me we are going to rule the world?", Mantis feels somewhat silly when Liquid scrunches his nose in disbelief. He doesn't like the feeling.

"When we were kids."

"You don't look a day older." Mantis supplies. He tries to reach out for the link, some remnant of warmth his memories brought him, but there's nothing. Liquid ignores the comment too, so Mantis decides for a different approach. "It wasn't easy to find you. Like you didn't want to be found."

The sigh Liquid lets out is weary, long-suffering. "Because I didn't. I am in the middle of something and I have no time for childish games."

"It's not a game, Liquid. I know you're looking for... certain people. And I am looking for a job". Despite how guarded Liquid is, he seems to be considering his offer. Or he's at least pleased by his straightforwardness. "I thought we might help out each other."

"Yeah. And I thought you were killed while working for the russians". That emotion... hurt. Liquid Snake was hurt. He was, for a long long time.

"They tried their best" is all Mantis can say, suddenly feeling like averting his gaze.

And then there's hands at the clasps of his gas mask. Too sudden, too close, too familiar for their own good, working the locks as easily as they did decades ago. Mantis knows he can push Liquid away. He can hurt him, burn him, get into his mind and make him stop what he's doing. He doesn't. He just lets him see, touch.

"What did they do to you?", his rage is quiet, more subdued than before, when they were kids, but it makes it all the more terrifying. Liquid's fingers pass over the jagged seams of his scars and Mantis is surprised to find he doesn't want to run away.

"I am sure I can spare you the technicalities. They cut me open, poked around for anything salvageable and left me to die when they found nothing."

"You don't sound bitter about it", Liquid notices, some familiarity finally bleeding through with a ghost of a smirk.

"Well, I killed them all for it, so I think we are square." Mantis isn't sure about where the conversation is headed and Liquid's hands are still on his face, tracing the scars over and over.

"Did they suffer?", yes, there's definitely familiar devilish light in those light eyes. Mantis missed it so much, even if he made himself forget it.

"Does burning alive sound like enough suffering?"

"No, but good enough", Liquid finally lets him go. "I missed you, you know", he admits after another long sigh. Mantis doesn't know how to reply, but he knows he can believe him. Pain, rolling off Liquid's shoulders in slow crushing waves, proves enough.

"Once I remembered who you were, I missed you too", is all Mantis could offer. He knows it won't help, that admitting it would likely make things worse, but he can't bring himself to lie to Liquid. Not now, not ever.

Liquid winces, as if in physical pain. Of course. "And how long ago that was?"

"A little longer than three months. Took two tracking you down and another one convincing myself I should even come."ll

"And what made you decide to come in the end?", Liquid asks and Mantis knows, he just knows that he wants to ask another question instead, what-made-you-forget. He will answer that one eventually, but not now.

"I remembered your promise", that one is easy enough though.

"About ruling the world?", Liquid quirks a brow at that.

"About burning it to the ground when we're done with it".

And to his complete surprise, Liquid laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I'l continue this... Maybe I will actually write actual liquidmantis one day. Haha. The boys will kiss one day. One day. No promises though.
> 
> There would be another tiny separate fic thing once I'm home to fact-check some things with the official graphic novel, so... yeah.


End file.
